Page 21 of Prisoner of the Lycan Prince

And then the woman shot into the air and transformed into a crow.

I stared at the words I’d just written. Biting my lip, I scratched out “woman” and wrote “Myrna.” Banshee or not, she had a name. According to Einar, she wasn’t a spirit.

But was he a reliable source? It wasn’t like I could ask him. I hadn’t caught so much as a glimpse of him in three days. On the other hand, I’d seen plenty of Arlo.

Every time I opened my door, the steward appeared. The first day, he’d rounded the corner just as I stepped from the bedroom. The second day, he was dusting the banister as I approached the stairs.

And this morning, he met me in the hallway with a breakfast tray in his hands.

“No need to come downstairs, Miss Ward,” he said cheerfully. “I’m happy to bring your meals to your room. I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable eating in there.”

It was as if Arlo possessed an uncanny ability to know when I left my room. After witnessing Myrna’s terrifying decapitation and inexplicable transformation, I could only assume he did. He looked human, but that didn’t mean anything. The memory of him pulling the copy of Einar’s contract from thin air still hovered in my mind.

I tapped my pen against my lips as I snuggled more deeply in the oversized chair next to my bed. My gaze strayed to my bare toes peeking from under the throw I’d draped across my lap. The scrape from the patio steps was fully healed. Apparently, Einar wasn’t worried about me developing sepsis. He hadn’t even inquired about the injury through Arlo.

Whatever. Einar’s silence was a good thing. He was cocky and overbearing. He’d kidnapped me, and now he had Arlo serving as my warden. I didn’t want to hear from him.

But his absence meant my reporting had hit a dead end. Pursuing Myrna’s story was a pivot. And, if I was honest with myself, a way to keep from losing my mind. The problem was I knew next to nothing about banshees. Maybe if I asked Arlo for some books on Irish folklore…

I let my gaze drift to the sitting room, where stacks of books lined the low table in front of the sofa. Moonlight glowed through the windows, casting the sitting room in shades of silver.

Arlo had delivered the books—along with a flat screen television—the same afternoon I saw Myrna transform. “I can order more books,” he’d said with a shy smile. “Just give me a list of the genres you like to read.”

I’d folded my arms. “Did Einar tell you to bring these? Nice of him to make my cage more comfortable.”

Arlo’s smile faded. “Prince Einar isn’t a monster.”

I raised a brow. “He transforms into a wolf under the full moon.”

“Oh no, Miss Ward, that’s a myth. The moon has no effect on lycans. Or werewolves, for that matter.”

“What about silver?” I asked, my fingers itching for my notebook.

“Another myth.”

“Garlic? Or is that just for vampires? Are there vampires?”

Arlo seemed to consider his answer. Finally, he offered a soft smile. “There are more things in heaven and earth, Miss Ward, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” He went to the door. Before he left, he turned back. “Prince Einar told me you visited the maze. It’s best to keep your distance. The hedges can be disorienting if you venture too far inside.”

A shiver sprinted down my spine. “Will I encounter a ghost as Hamlet did?”

Arlo opened the door. “Good night, Miss Ward.” He slipped from the room, leaving me alone once more—and no closer to gaining my freedom. His unspoken order was clear: I could watch television, and I could read. But I couldn’t leave my room.

And under no circumstances could I go anywhere near the hedge maze.

Cold air whistled down the hearth, pulling me from my memories. Setting my notebook aside, I stood and went to one of the windows in the sitting room. As I had every night for the past three nights, I stared down at the hedge maze, which gleamed in the moonlight. It didn’t look disorienting. The turns and angles were straightforward enough.

What was Einar hiding? Arlo’s warning to stay away tripped senses I’d honed since I was a child in my family’s newspaper office. It wasn’t anything I could articulate—just a “wrongness” that compelled me to stop and take a second look. But investigating was impossible as long as I was unofficially confined to my room.

Frustration rose, and I squinted, trying to peer into the center of the maze. Dammit, the next time I saw Arlo, I was going to ask him what was so dangerous about a bunch of manicured shrubbery. Let him go on the record denying the maze held any significance. Then I could prove him wrong.

A knock rang out.

I turned from the window, braced to hear Arlo call through the door as he usually did. On the other hand, it was too late in the evening for food. Maybe he could read my thoughts, and he knew I was prepared to call him on his bullshit. Or maybe something was wrong.

Dad. My father had been so volatile since my mother died.

I rush to the door and yanked it open. “Is everything oka—?” I snapped my mouth shut at the sight of the creature in front of me. No taller than my hip, he stared up at me with green eyes that glowed like gemstones. A shock of white hair waved back from his face, which was humanoid but covered with an intricate tattoo the same shade as his eyes. His ears tapered to points, and a pair of stubby black horns protruded from his forehead. His tight black T-shirt showed off muscular arms, and his jeans were artfully ripped at the knees. More green tattoos swirled down his forearms. A chain ran from one of his belt loops to his pocket.

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